Rebirth
by lemonfingerz
Summary: After turning up bloodied bruised in a abandoned building, Harleen is trying to find out how she got there. After tracing back ties to Bruce Wayne they both conclude that she has memory loss. She doesn't remember anything about her life with the Joker or as Harley Quinn. In fact, the last thing she recalls is starting her job at Arkham. Rated M for language and sexual situations.
1. Chapter 1: Water Birth

Ch. 1: Water Birth

Rebirth

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Blinding light; a pure white, clean ray flooding within the broken windows and between the rotting wood planks. A broken body lurches off the ground inhaling heaps of oxygen, kick starting raw adrenaline that helps urge the limbs to animate.

The woman gazed around the room taking ragged breaths, wide eyes darted around the room on high alert. Dust, weather worn walls, the distant sound of dripping water, the smell of burnt rubber and dirt, and the area was desolate and hazard ridden. Ignorant of her surroundings, she grew scared, her bones and her muscles ached. She tilted her head upwards and squinted through sunlight to see a broken skylight.

Given the broken glass around her, and embedded in her forearms, she synthesized that she fell through it. How or why was beyond her. She tried to stand but experienced a sharp pain in her knee, a large shard of glass jutting out of her flesh, dry blood clotting on her leg.

She let out a helpless whine, confusion, pain, frustration all creating an emotionally destructive whirlwind that threatened to cripple her. She knew that the wound wasn't fatal but it would be best to remove the glass later, she didn't want to risk bleeding out. Shocks of blonde strands congealed with dirt and blood fell in her eyes and she began a sideways crawl towards a support beam and stood on her good leg.

Dressed in a thin black dress she wondered what the hell she was doing before the accident. She couldn't exactly recollect her own name, and had no idea where she was or how she'd gotten there. Judging by the blood on her leg and her attire, she'd been out for an entire day or more, and was more than likely making her way to an event before the accident.

She looked around again, her vision adjusting to the light, and spotted a purse hanging by a strap from a loose metal rod on the wall. The dangling accessory was open and facing the ground where underneath its contents spilled out onto the dirt and glass filled floor.

The purse has to have a wallet or something in it that would yield some answers to an ever growing list of questions, but her leg had to be solved first. A voice in the back of her head urged her to make a splint, but with what? Plenty of planks and beams laying around, one of those and some binding should suffice. There was a long enough piece of wood just out of her grasp and a few scattered pieces of twine in the corner.

With some careful crawling and scooting she managed to acquire the needed materials. She had to straighten out of her, which wasn't exactly a pleasant task but she needed to move fast. She hissed, grunted and groaned as she flexed out the wounded limb, sliding the wood underneath it.

Tears started to form as she began to wrap the twine around her leg and the board to secure her leg into the makeshift splint. The woman sat there for a second to catch her breath before crawling back to the support beam and standing again, her aggravated leg now more sore.

At a steady hobble she made her way to the purse contents, footing them around to get a better view. No wallet, a money clip, some make-up, no I.D or driver's license, not much of anything that she could work with except for a black flip phone that appeared as if it were still functional.

Moving it near her with her foot she slowly sat on the ground and went through the device. It was a disposable phone, she could tell that much by looking at it. Flipping it up the screen lit up and tiny bars in the upper corner of the screen indicated that she had service. She went to dial 911 but stopped, she didn't know how all of this happened, and although she hurt badly she had suspicions.

No one has found her yet and it's been a couple of days, as a missing person there'd be a search, well, only if she had daily obligations in which an absence would be a suspicion.

Along with the general items in the purse a handgun among with them. No identification, a gun, no help, this entire situation wasn't sound. The phone had two dialed numbers, but only one had corresponding text messages. She read over them seeing the name Bruce Wayne, her head began to hurt. They were supposed to meet at his house around the approximate time she experienced the accident.

She went through more of the things and obtained a crumpled piece of legal paper with an address on it, she knew where this was. Peering outside it was a couple blocks away from there, but she was in no shape to walk. Sighing she dialed the number and waited.

"Hello?" The voice of an older man answered.

"H-hello I'm looking for a Bruce...Wayne" she responded as if it were a question

"Just a second, may I ask whose calling" the accent was clearer as he spoke

"Uh" she thought back to the text "Harleen?"

There was a pause "Just a moment" after that silence

Did he hang up? Harleen's heart began to race with panic until she heard a click. "Harley where are you?" a gruff voice demanded.

She let out a relieved sigh into the phone "I'm in an abandoned building on...Yonkers and 4th...I'm hurt bad and-"before she could elaborate she was interrupted.

"I'm on my way" a click then silence.

Harleen, Harley, a nickname, she began to murmur to herself "Harleen, Harleen...ah...shit what's my...uh Quincy...Quentin..."she sat there and began to think. Looking down at her hands she frowned, her nails were painted red and she had a variety of scars on her arms, legs and god know where else, but these looked old. Letting out a frustrated groan she brought her body to the ground, closing her eyes and calming herself. She let sleep take her, and hoped for the best.

Her body still felt sore, but she was no longer on the floor, the surface under her was soft and very warm. As she began to stir voices could be heard through the wall, they sounded argumentative but at this point in time that was the least of her concern. She was still covered in dirt and her leg still injured but she was out of the building, with help, she hoped.

She tried to go back to sleep because her head began to hurt, but loud footsteps moved out of the room and into the floor with a loud thump.

"How'd you sleep" a deep, even voice asked in the darkness of the room.

She never really looked at her new surroundings. She sat up and glanced around the room warily, the man took a step towards her. The dark room looked like a side room to an office, modest furnishings and lonely house plant. The man who entered the room was tall and well-built, dark hair, light eyes, and dressed in all black. Attractive, she thought cocking an eyebrow, and by the looks of this place he was also loaded. The walls in this little side room were painted a burgundy red, the plant was real and the air smelled clean. If this room looked nice, the rest of the place must look more sophisticated. What was his association with her?

"I've probably had better….and uh...if you don't mind, can you fill me in on a couple things" she paused "And my knee-"

"It will all be taken care of….what do you remember?" he asked walking back into an office and returning with a few medical materials, and a small plastic tarp. Setting everything up accordingly he looked at Harley's leg "That looks rough" kneeling in front of her he got a better look. "I'll have to-"

"Do whatever, but I still have a lot of questions Mr.-"

"Bruce Wayne"

"That's not ringing any bells for me" she murmured.

"What do you mean?" he looked up at her

"I don't know a Bruce Wayne, I can barely remember my own name, and I have no Idea how I ended up in that building"

"Are you saying that you don't remember anything? Sense when? What's the last thing you remember?"

Harleen paused "...Starting a new job at the asylum...and-"

"Harleen…do you know what year it is?"

She looked at him, her mouth opened to say something but she stopped, for some reason she couldn't remember.

Bruce looked at Harley in a loss for words. She had amnesia and it was rooted deep. She gazed at him her blonde eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

What happened?

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A/N: Chapters will be longer when the story continues IF the story continues, feel free to comment on any mistakes or inconsistencies...don't be too harsh about it please. I'm looking for feedback on the stories quality and if I should continue or not.

More to come soon

Maybe


	2. Chapter 2: Consultation

Rebirth

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What happened?

It felt good to rinse the dirt out of her hair. Caked up patches of blood and dirt all dissolved from her long, blonde strands and swirled down the drain. Her leg was wrapped up, her knee heavily treated and patched. The water aggravated the wound to a certain degree, but she'd endure the pain to feel clean. Most of her time in the shower was spent leaning into the warm spray and observing her various bruises and healed cuts.

The majority were straight cuts, not jagged or tapering, but just simple, clean, and neat cuts. Harley never remembered sustaining any injury bigger than her recent accident, but then again her memory was still a bit foggy. Most of them she assumed to be from the glass in the fall, but others looked treated, and too neat to be accidents. Washing her face again, Harley let the thought pass for now. Her day had been pretty eventful, and there would be time to assess her inquiries at a later time.

Limping out of the glass shower, she grabbed the towel off the rack and began to dry off. She fluffed and patted at her hair then worked her way down, flinching as she went over raw injuries. These would also have to wait.

A folded T-Shirt lay on the toilet seat, slipping it on, the garment almost went past her knees. There was also a black robe laid out for her which she wore with much appreciation. Walking out of the bathroom she totted her tattered dress and went to find Bruce. The office was empty, and the rooms on that hall were either locked or just guest rooms. She decided to peer over the stair rail, and managed to spot Bruce with a teen boy who he appeared to be scolding.

"Hey" she called out tiredly.

Bruce turned his attention to Harley, who gave him a tired wave.

"We'll continue this later, go to your room" he spoke, his voice low and firm. The teen boy went upstairs, his face twisted into a betrayed frown.

Harley waited until after the door slam down the hall "I know it's late, but I'd probably sleep better with some answers" she paused and heard the muffled sound of loud rock music blaring from the teen's room. "And you probably could use some rest yourself...so I'd like to make this quick" she laughed.

Bruce nodded "Let's go to my study, right around the corner" walking up the stairs he gave once disapproving glance down the hall before continuing.

"As far as I can recall, I felt more accomplished getting to the vending machine before Dr. "Vacuum cleaner" Leland"

Bruce almost laughed "And the Joker?"

She shrugged "What about him? I was probably only being used as an example" the blonde crossed her legs and leaned back in the leather chair. "Give a bitch the murderous clown wacko and send her packing" she blew a raspberry. "So yeah, I stayed"

"Do you still retain any-"Bruce searched for the ideal word. "Loyalty to him?"

Harleen chuckled "Never knew I had any" she replied with a smirk. "Like I told you. I. DON'T. REMEMBER. SHIT" emphasizing her point by over articulating.

He didn't want to risk this entire ordeal being an elaborate ruse, but the woman before him seemed like a totally different person. "Is there anything you remember about The Joker from your day's working at Arkham?"

She ran her fingers through her drying hair "I had maybe-" she looked up and thought. "-2 sessions with him...he was just off, typical I guess, but it annoyed me. His entire personality was just warped and fixing it, Jesus don't get me started"

"Did you find any part of him, admirable?"

Harleen took a good hard look at Bruce, "I got into my profession to help those who were sick. My only goal for The Joker-"she leaned forward. "-Was to bring him out of insanity"

Bruce frowned "That doesn't-"

"And into an electric chair"

His jaw almost dropped "So you didn't care for him"

"Some people can be helped in time, others can't. To me, if you allow your insanity to make you commit the murder of innocent people, men, women-"she bit the inside of her cheek. "-Children, then there's no help for you...not from me" she paused. "I just wanted to know why, I wanted him to see what he did" her fingers began to strum on the arm rest. "But everything was a joke to him...maybe if I understood why I could sympathize with him. In school it seemed easy, just treat these people like an assignment, but...I just get so mad thinking about him, what's he's done you know" letting out a sigh the woman let her hand go flat on the rest. "So, can I get some information here, I would like to breathe easy tonight"

He pursed his lip, heavily reluctant, he began to elaborate "For about 3 years you affiliated with The Joker as a type of...Hench woman. You've helped him hurt others...but your life with him...I do not know"

Harley paused for a long while. The silence in the room was uncomfortable. "Is this a joke Mr. Wayne?"

"This is the truth Harleen and I'm not sure how to make it more credible" he looked around, grabbed a newspaper and handed it to her. The headline read "THE JOKER AND HIS LUNATIC LOVER HARLEY QUINN AT IT AGAIN!"

Harleen took the paper and scanned over the photo. The face paint she wore was haunting, her hair up in pigtails and she gripped onto the arm of The Joker. Her trembling hands sat the paper down, "It's a coincidence" she swallowed.

"Harleen" he responded firmly. "I need you to try and accept this, not to hurt you, but so that you can steer into a normal life. This is a chance for a new start. Usually I'm skeptical about rehabilitation, but your condition-" he stood. "-Is a blessing...I suggest you get some rest. We'll talk more in the morning" he held out his hand.

Harleen grasped his hand and pulled herself up. As Bruce assisted her down the hall, her body felt numb. Cheated would describe how she felt. She was a criminal, the right hand of some anarchist who fancied himself funny for the sick things he's done to others. Harleen promised her mother that she'd make something of herself. It was so hard to fit the mold of a professional. It was almost as if she tried to cram herself into a shoe two sizes small and walk without a hint of discomfort. The classes, the studying, the volunteer work, all of the personal sacrifice just wiped away. She was tricked, or threatened, that's the only reason she could think of as to why she'd associate with him.

As she walked, the hall grew more narrow, and cold, just like the halls of the asylum. Her host no longer there, she could hear the screaming and the moaning of the patients in their cells. A large carnival sign with flashing lights and bright yellows letters read "WELCOME BACK". The setting around her took on the look of a fair, roller-coaster tracks weaved into the walls, and the sound of screams grew louder. She was now dressed in her work clothes from Arkham her hair pinned up in a neat, conservative bun.

Her breathing stopped and she began to feel light headed as she approached a large cell at the end of the hall. All sounds muted save for the sound of her high heels clicking against the grimy, moss covered tiles.

The low hum of a chuckle started to ease into the air, it reached her ear like the buzzing of an insect whisking past her.

"You think that you can escape me?" a dark tone hissed melodically then broke out in a shrill laughter.

The walls began to cave in and the ceiling crumbled.

White hands abruptly wrapped around the bars and the clown prince thrust himself forward, now face to face with Harleen, the bars separating them.

"YOU CAN, NEVER ESCAPE ME!"

She screamed and tears began to pour down her face in agony. So frustrated, she almost screamed herself almost raw. "MY ENTIRE LIFE!" she wheezed and held herself defensively. Bruce had to hold her up to keep her from collapsing. "MY ENTIRE LIFE IS GONE. HE TOOK IT FROM ME!" letting out a roar of frustration she punched a wall, leaving a decent sized hole in it.

Bruce wasn't sure how to handle her. The vigilante's resume didn't include comforting the mentally disturbed. He'd make sure to become disconnected from the emotions of others to gain a sense of clarity, to distinguish the genuine from the liars. When Harleen fell into him, sobbing into his chest, his own throat tightened.

My entire life is gone.

The phrase rang in his head like the constant, measured tick of a metronome. Although her person rested on his, she was in pieces, shattered like glass. Her body quaked as she continued to sob, he'd managed to get her to the room prepared for her but she wouldn't stop crying.

Part of him wanted to pull her off, this was awkward. His goal was to keep the Joker one hand short, not become a lost woman's comfort. The amount of trust he placed in the opposite gender was very limited; they'd either exploit him for his status, or were too needy and hindered his mobility.

Being the man he was, he wouldn't let this progress into anything other than a containment effort, snub out the clowns influence. Not that the freak cared for Harleen, or rather Harley; he wouldn't go off looking for her. Bruce just hoped she'd provide him with some crucial information, and that she'd go on to live a normal life.

He knew it wasn't wise to stay there for much longer, but he continued to hold her. The feeling was nice, to share an intimate moment without any hidden motive behind it. They shared a common betrayal, losing people, losing time. They were robbed, of opportunities and happiness, the ability to have a normal life, to trust. They could never piece themselves back together, doomed to cradle their fragments in hopes of becoming whole again.

A cautious hand rubbed her back; Harleen emptied her pain and anguish out through tears and wails. He would let her cling to him for a while longer.

For most women in popular media, waking up was a chance to reanimate from a peaceful slumber. Like a phoenix from the ashes, the beautiful female on screen stretches, her feathered hair made to look elegantly messy and angelic.

In real life, this trope was far less realistic than the idea of Bigfoot roaming your local grocery store. Perhaps the mornings of Bigfoot were more glamorous, more hair, and less concern.

Harleen sure felt like a Bigfoot, lumbering groggily out of bed, golden angelic locks, wrapped around her neck and some sticking to the side of her face, drool the adhesive. Whatever was hanging loose stuck out in different direction courtesy of static. If her keratinized noose didn't end her, her leg would. When she moved, the pain began to surge resulting in a dull ache, and a lovely raw throbbing. It's not as pleasurable as it sounds.

A gentle knock came at the door. "Are you decent Miss Quinzel? Your breakfast is ready and I have something for your leg" Alfred spoke at the door.

"Uh yeah, come in" she straightened up to stand but saw the butler walked in with a tray of food. "Oh, I could've gotten up" she murmured, her hair still a disaster.

"With the condition of your leg I'm surprised that you sound so unaffected" he smiled setting the tray down on the nightstand. "Here are some painkillers to help with any discomfort" the older man handed her the bottle.

"Thank you" she took the bottle and shook a couple of the white bars in her hand. "Is Bruce up? I'd like to speak with him" she inquired.

The butler shook his head "Master Bruce is still in the throes of fighting consciousness. He'll be up and moving no later than noon" he replied. "I suggest that after you eat, to get more rest. I'll see it that you and Master Bruce continue where you left of yesterday" crossing the room he checked the closets and dresser. "I'll return to bring you some fresh clothes. After you get dressed your leg will be redressed" Alfred straightened up and left the room.

Harleen nodded and looked down at her arm, more scars.

Contradictory to popular belief, the Dark Knight did not live for early mornings. He lived for days where he was able to sleep until noon, or even 2pm. Oh 2pm. His body was always sore, and he never felt fully rested, almost like he never slept. However, this morning he felt refreshed. It was going on 1pm, but his night cradling Harley made him feel at ease. He shook of the warm feeling and came to his senses, he'd feel normal after a cold shower.

With a towel draped around his shoulders he made his way towards the kitchen. The aroma of chicken and garlic wafted in the air, it was welcoming but didn't seem like an "Alfred" meal.

Harleen stood pouring sauce with chicken over cheesy noodles. Looking up with her hair up in a messy bun she smiled, "Hey there, I hope I'm not overstepping" she said.

Bruce paused, toweling his hair absently as he looked at the setting before him. She was very radiant, no make-up, ruffled hair, a broken leg, and she looked beautiful. He wasn't used to women not trying to impress him, he preferred this look.

"Uh...n-no, but your leg-"he stuttered.

"This? Stings like hell when I move, but fine" she grabbed a flat wooden spoon and began to smooth out the sauce. "I'm not sure about you, but I don't like sitting around feeling sorry for myself, not hungry anyway" she cocked an eyebrow and leaned over the counter. "And if you don't mind, I'd like to talk"

He nodded and took a seat, "Still wanting answers?"

"No, I just like smashing through skylights and fucking up my leg, keeps me skinny" she paused "I'm sorry" she held her hands up, "Just enlighten me"

"I told you what I know" he replied. He didn't want to reveal too much, she didn't know of his other persona. "You were The Joker's sidekick, his romantic partner, and his punching bag at times" he waited "That's what I've herd" he shrugged.

"I understand that, I was a criminal, but it doesn't seem like any of this happened" she clenched her fist. "I would not just forget 3 years of my life, I must've been tricked or kidnapped I-"

"It was voluntary" he began to think "From what I saw in the news, you were infatuated with him-"

"Stockholm syndrome? What did he use to make me stay he had to have done something, I just wouldn't go with him. I'm not fucking stupid!" she spat. Harley rubbed her forehead "Sorry again, I can't wrap my head around this, I went to school, I-I had a plan and he just-"she bit her lip to silent an onslaught of bad language.

Bruce tapped his foot "Harleen, I only know what everyone else does, you were the Jokers pawn, an accepting one, how that came to be lies within you"

She hung her head and understood, she'd have to try to remember, or simply find someone with answers.

"Well then" she huffed "Would you like some? I don't mind eating this entire pan of pasta myself, but you look a little hungry"

Bruce eyed the pan quietly as a loud, drawn out stomach growl echoed through the kitchen. Harleen erupted with laughter as Bruce put a hand over his stomach a pinched the bridge of his nose.

The two sat at the table with two empty plates and half of the pasta gone. "You can stay here until you get back on your feet" Bruce spoke first.

She scoffed "Right. I don't have much of a choice do I?"

The frustration she felt was enough to make her hair fall out.

"I want to make something clear first...Mr. Wayne" Harleen sat straight. "You will be compensated. My leg should heal in a month or so, I'll be out of here" standing was still a hassle but manageable. "You're a gracious host, and hell you saved my life, but I don't feel comfortable like-"she searched for the word. "Living off of you" she paused and crossed her arms. She eyed the man before her, a shadow crept over the upper half of his face, his mouth a fixed line.

"How do you know me?" she smirked. "I was obviously a wanted criminal, legally insane, and somehow I ended up on my way to see you. Why?"

It was a matter of time "You met me on one of your outings...away from the Joker. I insisted on helping you" he explained. "Someone must've intercepted you"

"Hmm" she replied, she wanted to say more, to know more. The woman knew how humans worked mentally. The man before her wasn't being fully honest, she could tell by his speech patterns, and the vein pulsing in his forehead. "I think that's all I can take right now, maybe my memory will return" she shrugged. "I should be working at that huh" she laughed.

Bruce nodded "I understand your aggravation though" he held up a hand "But, don't worry too much about relocating. After all, you got into this mess on your way to meet me. It's the least I can do"

The blonde nodded in agreement. As much as it wounded her pride, accepting the wealthy man's help would get her closer to getting her memory back. Her host, as generous as he was, seemed to be withholding information. She needed connections to her past life, and the only place where she could fine them would be Arkham.

"How long will it take my leg to heal?"

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A/N: Again, I vow to make these chapters longer. Whenever I draft them up on word they appear lengthy. This chapter is to set up events to come. I want to entertain as well as have fun with the readers.

Now that I've gained some footing on this story I can make the content more dynamic

Speaking of content, chapter 3 will be a little graphic, hence the M rating. There will be some good ol' Joker next chapter (hopefully I don't screw up his character)

The Harley that I envision while writing this is a bit sassy. I portray her according to her background as a doctor and as a woman who's lived in a crime ridden city.

Let me know if there are any inconsistencies or questions. Advice is accepted

I am also very appreciative for the supportive reviews and follows! Thank you very much! 3


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